


It's just the way that gravity works round here

by TheBrideOfTheWind



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Sorry, M/M, References to Depression, it's sad, kind of?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-05-10
Packaged: 2019-02-11 12:31:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12935331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBrideOfTheWind/pseuds/TheBrideOfTheWind
Summary: Murphy doesn't cope well being in space again, and nobody really knows what to do.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just something I wrote after that one promo photo. I really hope Murphy is okay.
> 
> I don't know why, but I'm always a hundred times more nervous posting a canon fic than any AU, hope you like it!
> 
> The title is from the song “Always ascending” by Franz Ferdinand.

The ball ricochets off the wall, back to the boy’s open hand, before it dashes against the wall again with the same annoying thud than the previous times. Even Emori is rolling her eyes, while most of the others have already left with annoyed faces until it’s just him and Murphy, the younger man still throwing and catching with quick, deft fingers, his mouth slightly open, a deeply concentrated look on his face. 

It’s day thirty-eight, and nobody really knows where the bouncy ball came from, but playing with it is all Murphy does these days, other than pacing around the station from one end to the other like a tiger in a cage.

 

It’s day forty-six, and he catches Murphy staring out of the window again, face as bleak as the view outside, and maybe their future. 

Once, in the first few days in space, it had been sorrow and longing in his eyes. He had been glum, but still happy that he and Emori of all people had survived. And he had been spending his nights whispering with Emori and Echo about earth, about the scent of rain and pine needles and the feeling of the sun on your skin. 

By now, he doesn’t seem to talk much anymore. 

 

It’s day fifty-five, and they’ve fallen into a carefully crafted routine where everyone seems to have their place and assignment. Monty’s taking care of the algae farm and the cooking, Emori helps Raven with the technical things. Echo and Harper coordinate the fight training and the guard duties, and Bellamy does everything and anything and tries to hold them all together.

Everyone has a place. Everyone has a purpose. Everyone but Murphy.

 

It’s day seventy-two, and they are eating some soup that Monty made for them, tasting like salt and something undefinable. Always the same. Same pattern, same food, and in a way he’s glad he doesn’t know what it really is. Sometimes ignorance is bliss, and in other terms and in another setting, the monotony of their days could be almost soothing.

He’s halfway through his bowl when he realises there are only six sitting around the table.

“Where’s Murphy,” he asks, and Emori meets his eyes, setting her empty bowl in front of her with a soft clank before she speaks.

“He’s not hungry,” she says, looking down on the table again as she fiddles with the grey cloth on her head with trembling fingers.

“Well, thinking about it, he hasn’t been hungry for quite a while now,” he mumbles, almost ashamed he didn’t notice before. He feels a short sting of guilt in his stomach. _What kind of leader is he, that he doesn’t notice one of them is missing?_

“Awfully observant,” Raven states coldly, and Harper and Monty share a look while Echo seems busy with emptying the bowl in front of her, half of her face disappearing behind it conveniently.

“He won’t leave the room, I don’t know what to do anymore,” Emori adds, and it aches again, more painfully. “It’s like he’s lost all the fire in him.” 

He drops his gaze, still embarrassed, before he looks up again. Emori has stilled, shuffling the bowl in front of her ever so slightly. Harper and Monty are just done with eating and Echo’s reaching out her bowl to get another ladle of soup. Raven’s still watching him, a dark look on her face.

“I’ll talk to him,” he offers. “Can you pour me some of that soup in a bowl, Monty? If Echo did leave anything.”

“At least _someone_ appreciates my cooking skills,” Monty mumbles through Echo’s muttered protests, pouring the rest of the green-brownish liquid into an empty bowl and handing it over to him.

“Thank you,” Emori whispers, and Raven’s lips twitch slightly, though the darkness doesn’t vanish.

 

It seems terribly cold in the hallway, and he presses the lukewarm bowl filled with soup to his chest as if it could keep him warm, as if it could keep away the coldness that creeps on him when he thinks of Murphy lying alone in his bed for days without him even knowing.

He stops in front of the room, letting out a long, slow breath before he finds the courage to knock on the door. Patience has never been a virtue he had, and when he still doesn’t hear anything, he knocks again, louder this time.

“What is it?” resounds faint and feeble.

“Can I come in?”

“Whatever the hell you want, Bellamy, whatever the hell you want.”

It’s not really an invitation, but he takes it anyway, pushing open the door with one hand while balancing the bowl with the other. The room is nearly dark, and his eyes need some time till he’s able to spot the bed and the boy in it, only the soft light of the bedside lamp illuminating his face. The blanket rustles as Murphy sits up, drawing up his knees and putting his arms around them.

“Did Emori sent you?”

“She asked me to look in on you, and Raven might have withered me with a look to do the same.”

“What do you want, Bellamy?” Murphy asks, and for a moment he’s aghast at his sight, at the dark circles around his eyes, the sickly paleness of his skin, and the forlorn expression he is wearing.

He can’t help the shocked gasp that leaves his mouth. “Jesus, did you sleep the last days?”

Murphy rocks back and forth without looking at him, seemingly lost in thought, or deliberately ignoring him. Not that he can blame him.

“Murphy, did you sleep the last days?”

“I don’t know.”

“You haven’t eaten, that much is sure. I brought you something.” He slowly places the bowl on the bedside table, careful not to spill anything.

“If I don’t eat,” Murphy takes a cautious look at the soup, “whatever this is, will you feed me then?”

“Don’t know, if you insist?”

“Who are you, my mother? Cause I can’t remember that you’re my friend. So spare your charity for somebody else, I don’t need it.” His words may be harsh and aimed to hurt him, but for the first time, there’s a spark in Murphy’s blue eyes again, a pale glimmer of something he used to be.

“Murphy. Please.”

“What did you expect?” he sneers at him. “That I leap up to my feet and everything changes, just because you tell me so? Those days are gone, never to return.”

“Okay,” Bellamy says, and there’s that guilt again, dark, smothering. And deep inside, he knows that he deserves it. “Okay.”

It’s not much else left to say, so he doesn’t.

“I – um – also brought you something else.” He reaches into his waistband to pull out an old, worn-out book, the cover faded, some of the pages nearly falling out.

“What’s that,” Murphy grunts, scrunching up his nose as if he just offered him the chip to take it, or whatever else he usually scrunches his nose at.

“It’s a book,” Bellamy chuckles, still holding it out to him awkwardly.

Murphy gives him a bleak smile. “I can see,” he says, taking it from his hands, anxious not to touch him.

“Peter Pan?”

“It’s been Octavia’s favourite book. She used to nag me to read it to her all the time when she was little.”

“I’m not a child anymore. And I’m not much of a reader,” Murphy tells him, leaning his head back against the wall and closing his eyes. The book slides out of his fingers and falls onto the mattress before it topples down the floor with a loud thud. Murphy doesn’t even flinch.

_“It’s like he’s lost all the fire in him.”_

Bellamy doesn't know what it is that makes him do it, but his mouth opens before he has any time to think through what he’s saying. “I can read it to you,” he proposes, and Murphy’s eyes snap open, blue steel gleaming as he can almost hear the gears inside his head shifting.

“Will you leave me alone if I let you read it to me?”

Bellamy nods. It’s not much, but it’s something.

“Fine,” Murphy finally agrees. “If you’re reading is as dull as your motivational speeches, maybe I’ll get some sleep after all.

“Can I?” Bellamy asks, nodding at the empty space on the bed next to him, and Murphy makes room, scooting over to the left side so that his back and thigh are pressed against the wall. 

They still sit close enough for them to touch if they wanted, he just needs to reach out his foot or his hand a little, only needs to shift an inch and – and what? Physical touch won’t bring them any closer, he knows that, as if a light brush of his hand could make everything right again. Still, it’s hard to resist, his fingertips resting against the blanket close to Murphy’s body, calling and waiting for him to take the first step.

But he doesn’t. And maybe it’s for the better.

Bellamy clears his throat before he starts to read the first paragraph, clumsy and slow at first before he finds the right rhythm. When he looks at Murphy the next time, he’s fishing for the bowl on the nightstand, the next moment he hears him slurping.

“Don’t make it a habit to follow me around,” Murphy peers at him over the rim of the bowl. “Or bring me food.”

“Weren’t you the one following me around?” 

It’s a passing comment, a casual inside joke, but Murphy doesn’t have any of it, his face glooming as he stares at him with dark eyes. 

“Yeah. Because I trusted you. Because I needed you. Because I...wanted you.”

“Murphy, I –” His gaze drops to the toe of his shoes, and he takes a sharp breath, not daring to look him in the eye.

“You know what, Bellamy,” Murphy says, and he finds the courage to look up at him again to meet his scrutinizing blue eyes. “I’m not the same callow boy anymore that I’ve been when we came to the ground. I’ve never put my trust lightly. And I never forget. I never forget anything.”

His words hang in the silence, a simple statement, an accusation, a warning, before Bellamy is able to speak up himself, is able to find the right words, if even possible.

“We’re here now. It’s a new beginning. Whatever happened down there can’t affect our lives here. This space station, these people, that’s all we’ll have for the next five years. We’re all we have.”

It sounds hollow, even to his own ears, and Murphy doesn’t look convinced either. But he nods and doesn’t push any further.

They sit in silence for a while, till Murphy finishes his soup and puts the empty bowl on the nightstand again.

“I thought it would be enough, you know? Just Emori and me. Just us, should be enough?” he sighs. “But it’s not. It’s – sometimes I feel like surviving is the only thing I’m good at.”

“Hey, don’t say that.”

“But what if it’s true?”

“You can come with me tomorrow, if you like?” Another offer he didn’t think through. It’s starting to become a habit.

“With you?” Murphy echoes, eyes wide and incredulous. “You should know by now that I don’t mix well with people. But I’ll think about it.”

“We used to mix quite well, though, didn’t we?” Bellamy grins, and maybe even Murphy’s sombre face shows the shadow of a smile.

Call it boldness, call it madness, but he stretches out his fingers to give Murphy's foot a shy squeeze before he stands up and grabs the bowl, the mattress squeaking happily as if a heavy weight is finally lifted. 

When he closes the door, Murphy has already lied down again; face turned to the wall, knees pulled up tight to his chest. 

“Thank you for the soup,” he murmurs into his pillow.

And it’s not much, but he takes what he can get.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, against all expectations, I'm back with another chapter of this thing! Made myself a little sad by listening to sad music while writing this, and I'm still sad, but also happy that the 100 and Murphy & Co. are back. Hope you feel the same way!

The bed creaks as he sits up, his bare feet cold against the ground. He stretches his sore muscles, rubbing his calf as he suffers another cramp. They come more often now, maybe because he still doesn't eat enough or lies in bed most of the days. 

It’s day three hundred forty-five, and the soup still tastes like nothing, though Monty keeps insisting he’s closer than ever to find the perfect formula, the ultimate algae recipe.

It still tastes like nothing, as everything tastes back in space, stale and insipid, like the false peace that every single one of the others seems to love so much and makes him want to break something, makes him want to set something on fire, or maybe himself, cause he’d rather burn brightly for one last time than smoulder like this for evermore.

There’s always been that part of him, a wild, untamed animal, a vicious beast, trying to break free. On earth, it’s been of use, vital even. Survival has become his second nature down there, his straw to clutch at, has been the thing that held him together. In space, though, there’s no need to fight, and he just exists, and many times he wishes he didn't.

The regular meetings with Bellamy keep him entertained for as long as they are together, but the days are trickling slower than ever, with him feeling more and more expendable while the others have their daily routine, their inside jokes, their shared glances.

He understands where Emori is coming from, knows it must be hard for her to feel with him, when she has no problems to adapt, has found a place of safety and a family for once. And as the days go by, it doesn’t come as much of a surprise to him that she's becoming more and more enamoured of space than of him, and he can't really blame her when he looks at himself.

Pushing Bellamy away hasn’t turned out to be successful, but he can't take as much of the man’s time before he starts to become a burden for someone who's got the whole ring to take care of. And so Murphy nods whenever he asks him if he feels better, even joining him and the others at the table sometimes to pretend he’s fine, that he’s a part of them.

“Nothing against your cooking skills, but this still tastes like shit,” he murmurs as he takes the first gulp of soup, all eyes turning to him. For a moment it's deadly silent before Monty dares to speak up.

“Shut up, Murphy,” he tells him off. A stupid, flippant quip between almost-friends, nothing serious.

But it's one of those days, and he hates space, he hates them laughing at him while all he wants to do is lie down – or no, while all he wants to do is to feel some pain, the sight of danger, something, anything that distracts him, that makes him forget...

And then the beast pokes out its ugly head, and the bowl crashes against the floor, algae splattering everywhere. 

And he can't tell what’s worse, Monty’s and Harper’s shocked gasps, Emori trying not to look at him, the disappointment on Echo's face or the barely concealed pity in Raven's eyes.

He can't tell, and he doesn't want to, kicking the bowl as he gets up, now more frustrated with himself than angry.

Murphy’s already half-around the table when Bellamy grabs his wrist, their eyes meeting for a fleeting moment.

“Come with me,” he grunts, and Murphy does as he’s been told, lips curling into an involuntary smirk, because some things never change, and although he doesn’t like to admit it he’s still running whenever Bellamy calls. 

He follows Bellamy before he disappears behind the next corner, nearly walking into him as he rushes to catch up, eager, still so eager.

They’re in the hallway, not far away from his and Emori’s room, but Bellamy doesn't show any intention of wanting to move further, observing him carefully as he strolls closer, the smirk still on his lips.

“What now boss? You gonna reprimand me? You gonna frown at me till I tell you the world is a beautiful place and I should feel so damn good about myself?” Murphy cocks one eyebrow, his casual tone in no way matching the tightness in his chest, the ongoing war in his head.

“I want you to hit me,” Bellamy says, matter-of-factly.

“What?”

“Come on, Murphy, if you wanna fight someone so badly, fight me!”

Following his words, Bellamy shoves him slightly, then again, harder. He’s still a little taller, still a lot stronger, and the next shove almost sends Murphy toppling over.

“What the hell, Bellamy!”

“I – told – you –to – hit – me!” He yells while he’s coming closer and closer, until there’s no room left to retreat and Murphy’s back hits the wall. Bellamy's fingers grab the top of his shirt, his body pressing against him, and not in a good way.

“Get off of me!”

“Or what?” Bellamy wants to know, eyes sparkling darkly.

The beast – or he? – lets out a menacing growl, but Bellamy doesn’t leave him alone, doesn’t give him any chance to escape. 

Murphy’s hands connect with his chest and he pushes him so hard he nearly loses his balance. Bellamy’s still not backing away though, and in the blink of an eye, he’s on at him again. 

The beast hisses, rattling the bars of its cage, and enough is enough, there's only as much as he can take. With a cry, he lets it out, hands and feet hitting and kicking every inch of Bellamy he can reach. It’s pure rage transformed into action, not coordinated or graceful, lacking Bellamy’s strength and precision, but it’s also more satisfying than he would have thought.

“That's all you’ve got?” Bellamy taunts him, and Murphy responds by throwing his fist in his face. His hand may hurt more than the punch itself, but the surprised look he receives is more than enough to make up for it.

“That enough for you?”

“You’ve gotten weak and slow, maybe you should eat some more of Monty’s soup after all. We all should be prepared when we get back to the ground,” Bellamy tells him, wiping the blood from his mouth, unimpressed.

This makes him laugh. “You didn't listen to Raven? There’s no way we can go down. Not now. Not in a year. Never. So what does it matter to you? What does it matter to anyone?”

For a moment, Bellamy stops attacking to look at him again, casually resting his hand on his shoulder. Murphy almost succumbs and leans into the touch before he catches himself.

“It does matter. And you matter, too, by the way.”

He clicks his tongue. “Well, ask Emori that.”

“Murphy,” Bellamy says, and Murphy hates the way he says his name, all gentle and compassionate. Immediately, the hand that’s still on his shoulder stops feeling pleasant and more like it's pressing down on him, uncomfortably firm and warm, and he shakes it off, more reflex than thought behind it.

This time he’s the one who steps all into Bellamy’s space, jutting his chin while he tries to stare him down. “We done talking now?” 

When Bellamy responds with a vigorous swing to his jaw, his vision blurs for a passing moment, and he can taste blood in his mouth, nearly laughing out in delight. 

There’s no way he’s going to win this fight, but he hurls himself into it again all the same. Bellamy lets him land another few blows before he blocks his next punch without effort and throws him on the floor, where Murphy stays for a few minutes, exhausted and gasping for air.

At least Bellamy is panting slightly as well, beads of sweat shimmering on his forehead and neck. Maybe he’s not as weak as he wants him to be after all.

“You better?” He asks, holding out his hand to help him up, and Murphy takes it because as much as he tries to hate him or antagonise him, Bellamy has always been one of his weak spots, and he’s never been able to shake off this underlying need to please him.

He stares at his bloody knuckles, feels his muscles strain, finally getting something to do. Adrenaline is burning in his veins, and for the first time since he's been in space, he feels kind of alive.

Bellamy smiles at him, and the beast drags one of its sharp claws across his belly, almost tenderly, then it stills.

“Yeah,” he nods, and just for once, it’s not that much of a lie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! What do you think? I'm still sad, and maybe a bit angry...

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!


End file.
